Maybe One Day
by theangelgabrielle
Summary: - "I'm Massie Block, your sister's math tutor." Massie has a secret and her best friend, Claire, does too. Could Claire have gotten over her 'one true love' so quickly? And just whose boyfriend is she dating secretly? Post BaT's. Canon pairings; C&D, M
1. One

**-m a y b e-**

_o n e;_

**-d a y-**

**--**

_One;_

_--_

For the first time in her precious, privileged, sheltered thirteen years, Massie Block understood what it was like to be heartbroken. Her witty comebacks were stuck in her throat. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, and definitely _could not _tear herself away from the scene unfolding before her very amber eyes.

It involved kissing. Lips and tongues, honest-to-God, _kissing. _To be more specific, her _best friend _Claire Lyons' chapped lips and her _almost-boyfriend _Dempsey Solomon's snake-like tongue. Gross. No. It was more than that. It was grotesque, terrifying, and downright monstrous.

The hands-on couple was shielded by rows upon rows of shining silver lockers. One was decorated with lime green and cotton candy pink streamers and foam lettering that spelled out "HAPPY BDAY, SOPH!" Massie stood a good distance away from them. She couldn't make herself move, anyhow.

Massie gulped back her fears, and, if she was being truthful to herself which she usually wasn't, her tears. The couple was too close for her comfort; theirs' maybe. Claire was smiling into Dempsey's lips. His hunter green eyes were glowing with - pure, unadulterated bliss?

Desperately, oh-so-desperately, she wanted to root through her smog-coloured suede Foley + Corinna handbag for October's flavour of Glossip Girl: Pumpkin Parfait. Massie knew this was an impossibility. Even four-hundred-plus-dollar purses had loud, obnoxious zippers. She would make a scene. That would not be the best outcome for anyone. Not herself. Not even those secret lovers, Claire and Dempsey.

Something had to be done. And, yes, a scene _would _be made. Just not now. There wasn't anyone to watch Claire's epic fall from the NPC; it would take all the fun away from a good revenge plot.

Ideas - evil ones at that - were already swirling around her head. Massie tucked her fading purple streak behind her sun-dappled ear. That day, on October twelfth, at precisely 15:55:03, Massie made a pact with herself and herself alone. Claire Lyons _would _go down. And she'd bring Dempsey Solomon tumbling down with her.

--

_Every pretty girl has a secret... _The words Alicia had once cooed after finishing Pretty Little Liars, which was the book she'd chosen for a report last year, echoed through Massie's pounding head. She could feel the pulse of her veins, the rush of blood in her ears.

And there she stood, on the stone steps ascending towards the grey castle of beauty known as BOCD, all alone. Sure, a few LBRs were milling about, mostly seventh graders or dumb kids who went to 'remedial.' Of course, Massie spotted River Scott, who was a forward on the guys' soccer team, macking with his petite and pretty Asian girlfriend.

Massie wracked her brain for a name for the face. _Janine? Jeanette? _It was some old-fashioned name that started with a 'J,' Massie just couldn't figure out what.

As for Massie's secret... She was, plain and simple, a math prodigy. Although she gracefully ignored her Honours Math teacher, Ms. Levy's suggestion to join the travelling, statewide Math Quiz team, she couldn't ignore the 'extra credit' points given for becoming a math tutor. So that was how Massie found herself, three times a week since the beginning of the month, helping poor unfortunates divide fractions and multiply integers.

A shiver made its way through the bell sleeves of her lavender Donna Karan coat, prickling when it found her spine. She shuddered, unwrapping the wool scarf in multiple shades of purple that was loosely knotted around her swanlike neck and tied it, tighter this time.

Isaac was nowhere to be found.

Had he...forgotten?

The brunette shook the idea out of her head. No one, _no one, _forgot about Massie V. Block! This was...an outrage! Massie quickly pulled out her phone. Oh, wait... Isaac didn't _have _a cell phone. Then, she speed-dialed the Estate. _"Hello, you've reached the home of Kendra, William, and Massie Block. We're not here right no-" _UGH!

Adopting Alicia's signature pose, Massie folded her arms over her chest. _The nerve! _In her light grey pipe cleaner-snug skinny jeans and black lace tunic-top, which was unfortunately concealed by the aforementioned DK coat, Massie was in no way dressed for the cold snap that had befallen Westchester County, seemingly overnight.

"Hey," a hesitant, girlie voice called out. "Do you need a lift, Massie?"

Her amber eyes scanned the milling-about BOCD'ers for the disembodied voice's owner. She saw a petite seventh grader with a side-braid waving her pink mitten-clad hand. "Over here!" the girl shouted, her voice becoming louder.

Massie's lower lip quivered. Should she go with this sweet but LBRish girl and risk having the whole school know her _driver _couldn't be bothered to pick her up? Or...risk waiting outside for the rest of her young life?

"Sure, thanks."

--

The car was a little green Nissan that was beginning to show signs of wear. A light dusting of frost covered the windows and made Massie feel like she was stuck inside a snow globe.

"You're really smart," the girl said abruptly, breaking the wall of silence that had formed around them. The seventh grader's mom was singing along to a rap song that was currently playing on Ryan Secreast's radio station. To say the least, she wouldn't be crowned an _American Idol _anytime soon. Heck, she didn't even have a shot at _Canadian Idol, _where the standards were so much lower.

"Thanks." Massie tossed a little, weak smile at her, even though inside she was thinking: _Just another loyal follower... _

"My name's Cordelia," the girl prodded, her tone oozing hopefulness, "You tutored me in Math today...?"

"Of course." The ice queen broke into a wide grin. Now, she remembered! Cordelia Jenks, the cutie with the upturned nose, who she'd helped with variables. "I just had..." She wracked her brain for an appropriate excuse, "A total memory blank."

"No problem," Cordelia excused, fiddling with the short hem of the Old Navy corduroy skirt she wore over red-and-pink striped tights. "My older brother forgets things all the time. I have to tell him when he has sports practices."

"Does your brother go to BOCD?" Massie inquired, not even having to feign interest. This girl was cute and her brother could be potential HART material, even if they were hippie-esque with their broken-down car.

"Nope." She shook her head vigorously and smiled widely, giving the eighth-grader a first class view of flamingo pink braces. "He goes to Abner Doubleday."

Pause.

"Oh," Massie recovered quickly, placing her palms flat against her toned thighs. "That's cool, too."

Cordelia nodded encouragingly. "I knew you would think that, Massie. Lots of girls won't hang out with me because I'm on scholarship and my brother goes to public school."

Oh. _Scholarship kid. This girl should start some kind of club with Kristen, _Massie thought.

"We're going to his baseball game right now," Cordelia's mom added over her shoulder, as the pulled into Abner Doubleday Day's parking lot. "I'll drop you off after I wish the team good-luck."

After undoing the complicated seat belt, Massie slid gracefully out of the Nissan, careful not to scuff her new shoes on a pebble or Redbull can. Surprisingly, ADD wasn't a trailer with porta-potties surrounding it like she'd originally pictured. Instead, it was a school, made of grey stone, that looked a lot like OCD but with graffiti that no one bothered to clean on the entries and exits. In addition to the school, there was a regulation-size soccer field with two baseball diamonds on the far corners of it. It was actually a nice place.

Massie, feeling out of place in her couture, followed in the footsteps of Cordelia and the girl's mom. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some non-uniform-wearing guys milling about the soccer field. On the benches beside the diamond, a team of guys, wearing blue-and-white jerseys, were punching each other and laughing too loudly to ever be excepted in the private school society.

When they were approaching, another round of shoulder-punches rippled through the group. Some of them just went "_Oooooh. Someone's in trrrouuubllle..." _Massie found her amber eyes sparkling, beyond her own control.

A giraffe-tall guy, with long, dark brown hair that curled under his collar, came up to them. He was in a blue jersey, with ADD Aardvarks on the chest, and 19 on the back, just like the rest of the guys. Under his team jersey, the collar of a mint green polo was visible. He had endlessly long legs - Massie noted, a blush creeping its way across her winter-pale cheeks - and wore loose sneakers.

"Hey, Mom," the baseball player said, throwing a half-hearted arm around his mother's neck. "Cordy finally got a friend?" he said, presumably to his mom, although his dark eyes were locked with Massie's.

"No, actually," Cordelia's mother replied. To this, her daughter gave an indignant snort and a "Hey!"

"I'm Massie Block, your sister's math tutor." Although the formal greeting called for a handshake, Massie intertwined her French-tipped fingers behind her back instead.

"Ah." He nodded sagely. "The genius we've been hearing about forever."

Massie couldn't help smiling at that. _Aw! _Someone thought she was a genius! Around her friends, Massie had to giggle at the Mathletes and their so-last-season Juicy tracksuits. Around her friends, Massie had to pretend that Daddy had paid for her spot in Honours Math. When really, Massie's wow-worthy test scores had done that for her.

"I guess that's me," she responded quickly.

"Michael," he introduced, rubbing at the back of his neck with a large hand.

"Massie," she repeated.

"Did you...want to stay for the game?" he nodded his head back at the gaggle of jersey-wearers, who were observing the unfolding scene.

"Sure."

--

_Would you rather have this Massie/Michael or Massington?_


	2. Two

_Two;_

--

There she stood. A late autumn wind whipped her dark hair free of her half-ponytail and Massie didn't bother to fix it. Maybe - hopefully? - it looked sexy. The game hadn't started yet. Massie quickly found out that the team ADD was facing - from a school simply called Westchester Middle School - was notorious for being late. They were also the non-uniform-wearers she'd seen earlier. Some of them were cute, but most of them were short and grumpy-looking - not Alpha Boy material in the slightest. Michael on the other hand...

Nearly five - _okay fine; _six - minutes had passed since Cordelia had shyly placed her hand into Mrs. Jenks', her mom, and mumbled something about "mean, median, and whatever" for homework. Massie thought the relationship the Jenks family had was unbelievably adorable. It was comforting to know that some Westchester families could behave normally, even when her parents were acting more distant than usual.

"Do you" (loud giggling) "go to school around here?" asked a petite girl, who made herself known to Massie by jumping in front of her. The girl had the fairest skin in all the land - she would've made a pre-vamp Bella Swan look like she weekended in Cabo. Her hair was a deep espresso colour and framed her heart-shaped face in a pixie-cut. If she went to OCD, she might have been PC material - had she not been so tiny, for her size would make clothes-swapping a no-no.

Massie nodded, causing a spiral of Jakkob-snipped hair to hit her button nose. "I go to OCD."

"Oh." The petite brunette's face had fallen, but she replaced it with a smile - something Massie quickly discovered was her signature. "Nice to meet you, anyway."

"Yeah!" a raspy voice called from somewhere behind the tiny girl. "I'm sure you're not like those other capital-B-witches that go to private school."

The raspy-voice girl revealed herself - easily. She was more than a whole head taller than the brunette. Her skin was winter-rosy and dishwater blond hair was tied in a half-hearted ponytail. Unlike Smiley, her hazel-green eyes held a sarcastic sparkle. "Got a name, princess?"

"Massie Block," she smoothly replied, tossing a closed-lipped smile for the snarky blonde's benefit. "What about you?"

"Elspeth." A roll of her startlingly pretty eyes. "Don't mind the house-on-the-sea name. My mom's a naturalist. Our house is vegefied. I've gone to the dark side-" smirks rippled through the group of girls, who Massie could only assume were ADD's answer to the Pretty Committee "even looking at a cafeteria hamburger makes me want to barf."

"That's Nora." Elspeth, presumably the leader or at least the most vocal member of their clique, hitched an unpolished thumb at Smiley. "Lynette." Her finger moved to point at a sweet-faced girl, who had the biggest blue eyes Massie'd ever seen to match her cute dimples. She was chomping hard on a wad of gum, barely paying any attention. "And, last and least, Kelsey." Kelsey waved a bare hand. Her nose was red from the cold and Marvil-red side-bangs hung in her eyes. She wore a too-big navy hoodie that looked like it belonged to a guy. She was sitting on the bench, textbooks and papers spread out about her. One headphone was stuck in her ear.

"Basically," Lynette drawled, her off-key accent on show, "we're the unofficial cheerleaders."

"She's right," Nora agreed, doing an uncalled for twirl, clutching the ruffled hem of the Forever 21 dress she wore over white tights as she spun. "Our boyfriends play every sport known to man and it's our duty to show support!"

"'_Our duty'_?" repeated Elspeth, her tone incredulous. "We're not married or anything."

Trying to regain part of her lost Alphaness Massie smirked and let slip a, "Puh-lease. You're obviously pretty serious, or else you wouldn't be here."

For a second, the private school-educated beauty swore that the dirty-blond haired girl would explode. Would there be a black-and-white photo of her, beaming, in tomorrow's newspaper? Would the headline read: 'Westchester teen found dead in a ditch somewhere, does anyone really care?' She gulped, matching Elspeth's stare in intensity.

That was when Elspeth Carter burst out laughing. She threw her back and let loose a stream of giggles. Massie thought the girl's laugh was kind of beautiful. Odd, certainly unique, but beautiful in its own way. She now understood why someone would want to date her - before she'd thought Elspeth was more the 'I'm so scared of you, but I'd rather be on your good side' type deal - at times, she could be unexpectedly wonderful.

Massie glowed.

--

Finally, it looked like the game was starting up. Massie wondered why the opposing team had yet to slip into their jerseys. Some of them were lazily swinging around standard school-issue baseball bats, pulling funny faces or making their movements exaggerated, like in a cartoon about the sport. Occasionally, she found feel people - guys, probably - staring at her and knew why: for one, she was a new face. For another, she was easily the prettiest of the girls there. Without Alicia or Faux-livia there to outshine her, the brunette looked some kind of gorgeous - like a regal lady-in-waiting or an ambitious-slash-evil Anne Boleyn.

Massie was quickly informed by Elspeth that ADD was at bat first. While the teams set up, the girlfriends-of-players formed a circle against the bitter wind. They went around, carefully saying their cell numbers, and Massie programmed them into her iPhone. After that, the opposite was done with Massie's number being saved instead.

"Which ones are your boyfriends?" she asked, trying to keep her heart out of her throat. She prayed to God that no one had called dibs on Michael yet.

"We'll introduce you to them after." Elspeth waggled her fingertips.

"They're the cute ones!" Kelsey called, looking up momentarily from a Geography text with an orange cover. Everyone - Massie, too - giggled.

Nora popped in between the two leaders of two very different cliques. Her head of close-cropped dark hair was stuck in between Massie's Blair Waldorf-inspired-by curls and Elspeth's dirty blond ponytail. "My boyfriend, Remy, is number seventeen. El's is twenty-one, that's Lyle. Kelsey's is forty, Greg. And Lynne's is -" _NotMichaelnotMichaelnotMichaelnot - _"Warren, number sixty-seven."

"Cool. I'll probably forget them all, though." Not true. Massie's memory was kind of amazing - 17, 21, 40, 67. She had also logged that Michael's number was nineteen.

"I'm subbing today," an eerily familiar voice whispered in her ear. Massie turned, spooked. Then she felt a smile lifting her lips. _Michael. _"That means I have nothing to do except look pissed off at the other team."

"Hey."

Elspeth was tossing a neon green softball to Nora - who missed by a long shot and shouted, _"No fair, you're a giant!" _

"Hey yourself." Michael's dark eyes glinted from behind his man-bangs.

Awkward!

--

No longer was the situation awkward. After the initial, prototypical inquiries about schooling (public vs. private?), family (Massie was an only child; Michael had one sister, Cordelia, and an absentee father), and friends (the Pretty Committee and Michael's jock squad), the conversation had turned for the better. Soon they transitioned into a chat about nothing in particular.

In a word? Massie was smitten. And by the smirk on his face, Michael wasn't opposed to her, either. She had never planned to wither in the spotlight, alone, after the infamous Block-Harrington spilt. Of course, she assumed Dempsey would assimilate into the position Derrick once held. But after what she observed last night...there was no chance of that happening. Michael was a wonderful second choice.

"I'm glad I came today." Her French-tipped fingers played with the tangle of necklaces she'd bought from Bergdorf's last week. "I had..." her voice trailed off.

"Fun?" Michael supplied, grinning. From behind the shield of her messy bangs, Massie spotted the other girls laughing, flirting and subtly touching their boyfriends. She watched Nora's painted lips curl as Remy patted her on the head, exaggerated her short statue. Elspeth was giving Lyle one of her infamous-as-Massie-had-learned long diatribes. Kelsey was sharing her Science notes with Greg. And Lynette was fluttering her Bourjois-enhanced lashes at Warren.

"Yes. Fun, that's the word."

"Well," Michael admitted, "I had fun, too. Is there any chance you'd come to my next game? This time, Thursday?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

And that was when Michael - tall, long-haired, sporty, fun, sweet Michael - leaned in and just-barely brushed his lips against Massie's. It occurred to her that she hadn't glossed since the car ride with Mrs. Jenks, but that didn't seem to be so much of a big deal just then. Quickly, Michael pulled away, like her lips were on fire. He couldn't meet her eyes, but the low, "See you around," he offered reassured her that she wasn't _that bad. _Besides, Derrick was always begging for her kiss - surely she couldn't be so terrible.

Slowly, Massie raised her fingertips to her lips, wondering if she'd just imagined the whole thing.


	3. Three

_Three;_

--

Claire Lyons, for the first - okay, second, well, really third, or...maybe fourth? _Whatever!_ - time in her life, cared, truly, really, absolutely _cared _about her appearance. She was generally considered to be the moral centre of the less-than-moral NPC, but being vain was not above her. She had a _secret-date _with Dempsey Solomon. Life was pretty good.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror tacked onto her bedroom door, Claire's unnaturally reflective lips folded into a grimace. She tried to paste on a smile, like Massie and Alicia and Kristen and Dylan did whenever a HART-y boy walked by, but it looked cracked and fake and empty. Instead, Claire focused on sweeping a liberal amount of Bourjois mascara onto her barely-there lashes. It was a just-because gift from Massie herself. The pretty blonde had already peppered her pressure points with a vanilla body spray from CVS, covered her face in a mask of Almay concealer, and even applied some glittery blue eyeshadow quickly.

That was when her Dial L for Loser phone rang. Her heart soared, knowing it was him, and without bothering to glance at the caller ID, she put on a seductive voice and purred, "_Hi, you._"

"Claire, is that you?" A voice - _that voice _- half-screeched.

Breathlessly, Claire lost her sexy purr and mumbled, "Yeah." She ran a nervous index finger through her Bumble and Bumble-aided curls, attempting a series of Miley-Cyrus-circa-slutty-self-photo faces. Which would be best for her first not-a-makeout-session date-date with Dempsey? The soul-searching stare combined with slightly-parted lips? Or, the full-on pout and 'smiling' eyes?

"Lyons! Are you even _listening _to me?" Massie's voice was almost a yell; it was definitely angry. _What crawled in her La Perla panties? _Claire joked, adjusting the thin straps of her knee-length dress. Something borrowed from Massie, naturally. It was Marni and cost a thousand dollars, but the Block heiress said it made her butt look flat. (_"Enjoy, Claire Bear."_)

"N-" she started, but stopped herself. Claire felt a halo of sweat forming around her hairline and tried to focus on the song lyrics that were pulsing through the room. She'd popped in a couple of CDs into her stereo and pressed Rotate. Currently, a selection from Boys Like Girls' self-titled album was playing at a moderate level, so as to not disturb Judi and her dowdy friends during their "Bake-A-Thon," or Todd, who was 'entertaining' some of his BOCD peers with Rock Band for Wii. "Yes, of course," she smoothly answered.

She could almost hear Massie's tight-lipped approval through her cell phone. "Good," the cool-headed but unlucky-in-love - _as evidenced by Claire's evening plans - _brunette said. "When are you coming over?"

"Uh...what?" Claire managed after a beat. She was hardly focused on the conversation, swivelling her hips in the mirror and praying the BCBG dress gave her curves where there were none.

"It's Tuesday," she intoned, like anyone else would say '_Duh.' _"We've been planning our _Greek _marathon for ages, C."

Claire, blond curls swishing about her face, rolled her indigo-blue eyes at the mirror. _Frick. _She'd completely forgotten about that. Claire walked - trying to add a little swing to her step - over to the social calendar Alicia had given her. It was heavily marked up, with a little legend on the page, so she wouldn't forget what each thing meant. Red circles meant secret dates with D, blue 'X' marks meant official PC events, purple hearts were 'Massie Meetings' when the girls did stuff one-on-one, etc. Today, Tuesday, had nothing on it but a red circle. And, oh...

A tiny purple heart with messy scribbles beside it that read 'greek marathon at M's.' Claire felt her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to rip through the delicate lace and tulle fabric with one foul tear. She placed a hand - ignoring the week-old manicure that would, no doubt, give Alicia heartache - over the offending organ and breathed deeply, like Judi did during "Yoga-A-Thon"s.

"It, uh, just... completely..." Claire gulped, knowing her words are wrong, but nothing she can do or say will withdraw them. "Blew my mind, I'm sorry."

The sarcasm in Massie's voice was a new addition. "Oh. Really. That clears _everything _up, thanks." Claire knew that an eye-roll of freaky amber eyes is being given to Massie's own full-length mirror at the moment.

"I- Uh... What's that? I - Can't...quite hear...you?" Claire clicked 'End.' She squared her shoulders, wondering if the silver Tiffany necklace - an old Christmas gift from Kendra and William - was too much for the dress.

--

Massie watched silently, gnawing on SmartFood popcorn, while Casey Cartwright, the president of an exclusive college sorority, played pool with her ex-boyfriend, on screen. The Alpha's glossy hair was wavy and untamed. She'd thrown it up into an LBR-inspired high ponytail. She'd set out some 'black-tie sweats' in the form of this season's lipstick red Juicy tracksuit, but when she heard Claire's totally-fake hang up excuse, Massie flipped the world the theoretical bird. She pulled on a pair of so-last-season-but-oh-so-comfy heather grey track pants that hugged her hips, but were loose in the leg, a floral tank, and a striped hoodie with 3/4 sleeves made of French terry cloth from Free People.

__

Cute. Not worthy of an Alpha, though...

Her gold-tipped, manicured finger pressed 'Pause.' The screen now showed Casey passionately kissing aforementioned ex-boyfriend, Cappie. Sigh. They always came running back didn't they? Even though stupid Casey already had a perfectly good HART for a boyfriend. Massie's shoulders slumped, realizing the parallel she had drawn.

Another sigh escaped her lips and her hands twitched against her thighs - she needed lipgloss badly, but it wasn't like anyone was going to see her anytime soon. That was when Massie let a long list of expletives loose. Life _sucked. _What was she? A wet-eyed, mascara'd mess? A _Claire_? No way in hell.

She was a Massie. A Block. She fought hard, went down swinging, and wore Nars lipsticks to social funerals.

So she picked up her cell phone, scrolled through the Contacts and clicked. Once, twice, three times, she clicked. Okay. So she was a little anxious. So what? "Hey. This is Massie. Are you busy?"

--

Well, then.

Claire huffed and puffed as she navigated the winding streets of the cul-de-sac. She used a large intake of oxygen to blow her still-growing-out bangs away from her face. Why ever did she let Layne cut them? She should've used her fond powers of "Claire-voyance" to predict that Judi's "Yoga-A-Thon" would run late. _Of course it would. _And of course Todd would've crashed both _her _bike and _his _ten-speed. _Of course he would. _And, oh, _of course, _Kendra would suggest Claire borrow Massie's bike.

The last bike Massie had was from when she was the Alpha of the seven-year-olds.

__

OF FRICKING COURSE!

That's the story of how Claire Stacey Lyons ended upon on a too-small bike, in a too-ugly shade of maroon, pedalling to Dempsey's like her life depended on it.

--

Hair pinned up, Massie ran her tongue over her laser-brightened teeth. She winked at the mirror, then walked away, on the scuffed pads of her pristine white ankle-socks. There was no time to change, so she just added said hair pin and socks and brushed her teeth (_okay, fine, _twice) and made a mental note to bring her extrasuperspecial, just-ordered-from-Shopbop purse instead of the simple, navy Marc by Marc Jacobs she'd been toting to school lately.

Still in her low-key attire, Massie did a final check for text messages. One from Saylene Homer, (_skip_), one from a _Gossip Girl _newsletter she subscribed to _(save for later) _and two from Alicia _(skim for good gossip)_.

**ALICIA:** wht R U doing 2nite? wanna go to the mall?

**ALICIA:** theres a sale at RL... ;)

_Delete._

_Delete._

_He_ was coming over. All-caps, bold, underline_ he_. Her heart was beating to the beat of a hyper OK GO song and she couldn't get it to slow down, even as she dabbed a cold compress _("Thanks a bunch, Inez!") _along her décolletage, her neck, and up and over the bridge of her nose. Massie felt a triad of shivers rush over her body, starting from her head and travelling all the way down to her socked toes. She wiggled them. Maybe she should lose the socks...? _No._ What if _he_ thought feet were gross? There was no way her 'suggestion' would go over well, if he was scrunching his nose up at how her second toe was undeniably longer than her first toe.

It would be probably be awkward. Their meeting. His and hers. They were in the eighth grade, she was thirteen because her birthday was in July and _he_ was almost - his fell on Halloween day - and they were a boy and girl with an interesting and maybe-kinda-possibly romantic past. Massie hoped that all the mumblings and not-meeting-eyes would fade away when she spelled out her proposition for him in black and white.

That was when the doorbell rang, a chiming of bells set to sound like "Ode to Joy." The hokiness of it made bile rise in her throat, but she pushed it back.

Her feet - fully socked, _thankyouverymuch_ - pounded on the impressive Brazilian rosewood flooring as she skipped down the winding staircase. A naughty smirk was already playing out on her face. If nothing else, her evening would be memorable. She pulled open the door, hoping her expression was devoid of excitement.

"Always a pleasure, Block."

"Wish I could say the same, Harrington."


	4. Four

_Four;_

--

Claire twirled a matted-down curl (_Because _of course_ a torrential downpour had struck_) and decided that maybe, just maybe, the sun streaming through the window made her white-blond hair glow in an angelic sort of way. She loathed sitting beside windows. It made her feel trapped. Like a goldfish in a bowl or a panda in a zoo. She just wanted to run free. Or, you know, using the fish metaphor, she just wanted to swim free.

Fingers resting on her thighs, she clutched the flowy fabric of Massie's tulle dress. Her heart sinking, sinking, sinking, until she swore she heard the telltale splat of a vital organ hitting the cheap-looking floor tiles. To be positive, she peeked under the table. Nope. Nothing. Well, except for some ridiculously overpriced shoes (she hadn't taken a photo of the price tag this time, but the 'early-early-early birthday gift' from Dylan would've given her some serious label-shock) and a couple puddles of ketchup. _Classy._

Dempsey was in the bathroom. Doing...whatever guys did in the bathroom. Claire wondered if they were anything like girls. Did they spend a copious amount of time in front of a foggy mirror, trying to get their man-bangs just-so? Did they talk about, like, _cars _or _sports_ in insanely long line-ups? Of course, maybe they just went pee.

"Demps!" Claire announced. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

The thespian smiled as well. He gave less of an attempt than even Claire. His lips barely turned up, forming a lopsided grin. In his stained cargo pants and too-big-for-his-new-"OHMIGOD, SO HOT"-body orange tee, Dempsey Solomon looked like a drunk frat boy. Claire, lips painted and hair shiny, looked the part of the overachieving sorority girl slumming it.

"C," he addressed, yawning.

Claire felt a little overdressed.

When her green-eyed Adonis said they were going out for dinner, well... She hadn't expected Cokes and crispy chicken at Dairy Queen. Claire munched on a fry. _Life sucked._

--

From: **alicia **

To: **mass**

Subject: **_stupid fricking subject lines._**

ZOMG.

Good news, pretty! Call me? Your phone's off or something. Broken? Hope not. that would suck.

I HAVE THE BEST NEWS IN THE WORLD

love ya,

alicia m. rivera

--

"So, it's time for the grand tour of the estate, yeah?" Derrick asked eagerly. "Your bedroom first?"

Massie's face scrunched up in a way only she could manage without being called 'lame' or 'a baby.' She gave him a shove, grinned when he winced and mumbled - in that _oh-so_ Derrick Harrington way - "Jeez, Block. When did you stop being passive aggressive?"

"Sometime after being called immature, meeting this transmogrified loser-guy and finding out my best friend is necking him," she deadpanned. This time, Massie averted her eyes. If she hadn't, she would have seen the initial disbelief, then realization and finally frustration register on her ex-boyfriend's face. He ran a hand through his as-yet-untamed blond locks, shaking his head.

"I...can't believe it." Derrick tried to gain Massie's attention, but she was absolutely enthralled in wiggling her toes. "Rivera?"

"No, no." Massie bit her lip. "I meant Claire."

"Holy-" Derrick stopped himself, looking around the huge foyer, possibly for Kendra, William or any house staff. Massie admitted she was alone, that her parents were off at some benefit and had given Inez and the rest of the help the night off.

"Yeah. _Holy_." Massie let her words sink in. She also let the fact that Derrick was not rolling on the Oriental carpet, laughing his often-bared ass off, screaming "I TOLD YOU SO!" at the top of his lungs, sink in. He...changed? Grown? Dare she say, _matured_?

Derrick, stubborn, outspoken, mumbling, athletic, show-off Derrick, plopped down on the ground. On said carpet, stretching out his legs, which were bare, now. Apparently the pants-wearing shtick got old fast. He motioned for the brunette who towered above him, to follow suit. Hesitantly, she did.

She laid out on her back. The ponytail was hurting her head, so she pulled it out, letting dark hair spill over her shoulders. She didn't care that Derrick was looking. It felt nice to be looked at. When was the last time Dempsey had looked at her? Looked her in the eyes? Kissed her? Complimented her? It felt like ages.

They were almost touching. Side-by-side, they were close enough to share body heat. Massie could've fallen asleep, not because she was bored, but because Derrick's steady breathing was so comforting. His fingers reach out and just brush her hoodie'd arm. She moved away slightly. Sighed.

"Friends?" She held out a pinkie.

"Friends." His noticeably long and tanner finger wrapped around hers. He had a strong grip.

She didn't even notice when tears began to fall. He just sealed the space between them back up, not touching her, but there all the same.

--

From: **dylannn, ruler of all mankind **

To: **cammie**

Subject: **hoe much do you suck?**

1st of all, i just realized i typed "hoe" up thur instead of "how." i should go back and change that, but im already getting cramps from writing so...no. Sides, you're kinda acting like a hoe 2.

how much do you suck, cam fisher?

let me count the ways:

1) your bein all weirdy w/ claire. gurl is seriously confuzed and your not helping.

2) that kiss...was uncalled for. we're just in the same group for a math project, i didnt choose u and unless you bribed the teacher, u didnt choose me.

3) dont avoid me. or claire. or massie, and lord only knows y you're avoiding her.

friends?

--

There it was. A tacky, too-stiff baseball cap in a popping shade of pink. In white stitching, the initials NYY were too visible, too loud, and too _out there_. Alicia Rivera was all about taste and sophistication. She was the epitome of class and brought a whole new level of stunning to the NPC. The pink cap was set out on the mahogany dresser in her Princess Jasmine-inspired bedroom. It looked out of place among the lush throw pillows and lipstick red walls.

Alicia stared at it. Simply stared. Her sparkling brown eyes were fixated on the total pinkness of the cap. She knew she was behaving like a Layne or a Heather or even a - perish the thought - Claire, but she couldn't help but reflect on her relationship, if you could call it that, with one Josh Hotz. Their relationship consisted mainly of awkward arm-brushes or lame closed-lip kisses. Alicia was no horndog, but, frankly, if she didn't know better she'd think Josh was more a distant cousin than a boyfriend.

He was always...looking off into the distance-slash-sunset. Even when Alicia tried to channel her inner Kardashian, you know, put the extra effort in too be all pouty lips and smouldering eyes and tiny waist, he seemed like he'd rather be playing Call of Duty 4. That very day, Alicia had tried to walk with Josh to class, but he'd just ignored her the whole way. Of course, it might have been the fact that her class was on the third floor and he had Phys Ed on the first, but still! _Rude, much?_

The TV was on and Stephen Colbert was ranting, but Alicia could hardly concentrate. Instead, she uncapped the OPI bottle of nail polish and painted her freshly-clipped toes a dramatic shade of red called 'Keys to my Karma,' part of the India-inspired collection. Of course, even when Josh was PMS-ing, at least she had her good news.

It turned out that the seventh-grader, Mia Kin, yeah, the one who _stole_ her position as the daily news announcer for BOCD, had a mother who was a talent agent. Modelling, singing, and acting. Guess which she hand-picked Alicia for?

Oh, yes. Alicia M. Rivera was going to be a supermodel.

--

To: **Massie**

From:** Claire**

Subject:** ...**

There's something we need to talk about. I know that we haven't seen much of each other lately, and I might know why. Although, I think this would be best done in person. Sorry about tonight, missing your TV marathon-thing. I just forgot - sorry.

Your best friend,

Claire.


	5. Five

**Warning: **Fairly strong language, nothing all that bad though. Urgh. And some...vaguely suggestive stuff.

Change rating to T?

--

_Five;_

_--_

Quicker than most people can blink, Claire slid her gold and red cell phone away, hiding its glossy case behind her favourite slouchy leather purse. Even though she'd bought it at Old Navy over a year ago, she still received compliments on it and occasionally had clueless OCD bobble heads ask 'who' she was carrying. Massie usually answered for her, smoothly making up some old-fashioned Italian man's name on the spot. Said OCD girl would widen her eyeliner'd eyes and pucker her Beauty Rush-coated lips in utter reverence.

Dempsey looked up from his FlameThrower burger. "Not hungry?" he questioned through a mouthful of mayo, pepper jack cheese, bacon, tomato, and green leaf lettuce. He raised his blond eyebrows in the direction of her mostly untouched meal. She'd pecked on some fries, skipping on the ketchup because it had too much added salt, and even nibbled on the crunchy chicken fingers. Her extra-large Diet Pepsi was still half-full. Claire refused to drink much of that - _Didn't Dempsey remember that the ice at fast food joints had more bacteria than most toilets? _

"Not really." A hand, jingling with the sound of cheap bangles knocking against each other, jumped to her sucked-in stomach. "I had a big lunch."

His Leonardo Dicaprio-esque straw-coloured hair flopped adorably, as he munched whilst considering this explanation. After a moment, he accepted this with a shrug and a mumbled "Okay, whatever. Your loss."

With that, Claire took her phone out from under the camouflage of her purse. She rested the slim piece of technology between her thighs, feeling a chill rise up her bare legs from the over-air conditioning in the Dairy Queen. She'd just speed-sent an e-mail to Massie. Something was bothering her and Claire had a sinking suspicion it was bothering the amber-eyed leader, too.

_NO NEW MESSAGES_, blinked the cell's screen innocently. Claire harrumphed to herself, smoothing back the turquoise fabric of her dress. She slouched in the corner booth, lifting her exposed elbows slightly so they didn't graze the surface of the table. As far as dates went, she had more fun picking up hookers and stealing cars in Cam's basement with his brother's friends surrounding them. _Grand Theft Auto_ was a fond memory of the better days.

That was when Claire noticed Dempsey's hunter green eyes go serious. He sat up a little straighter and leaned over the table to tilt Claire's chin upwards. She couldn't deny it - the sparks were, well, _sparking. _

She could almost feel beads of sweat forming along her hairline. "Hi."

He broke out into a dazzling - _be still, my beating heart _- smile. "Hey."

"So."

"So."

"Cee." His fingers tapped against the tabletop, pounding out the rhythm to '_In The Ayer.' _"There's something I have to say. I'm so glad we met, you know? It's just, even though I'm with Mass and, like, love her and shit, it's really great to have such a cool friend like you." There was that smile again. Oh, that fricking smile.

_'FRIEND'? WHAT THE EFF? _

"Yeah. It's...totally great."

Dempsey reached across the table and stroked her knuckles, sending those damn fireworks blasting through the evening sky. "Exactly."

--

Kristen Gregory ambled down the busy street, keeping close to the thin curb to avoid being hit by the middle-class four-door sedans and minivans that roamed the less-exclusive part of Westchester County. At home, in their minuscule, thin-walled, two-bedroom apartment, Kristen's parents were biting each other's heads off. No, not literally, although she suspected that violence would be the next step in their _I-can-yell-louder-than-you! _match.

Her heather grey hood was pulled up over her head, concealing her dishwater blond and poker-straight hair. There was no smile on her face. Rather, a scowl played across her model-pretty features. Through her first generation iPod, the angry yet interchangeable musical stylings of Linkin Park blasted her eardrums. Wrapped around her hand was a red leash that felt like suede. Attached to aforementioned leash was Sniffles, Mrs. McLaren's boxer puppy.

Lois McLaren, a fashionably delusional divorcee with three grown children of her own, was one of Kristen's closest friends outside of school. Mrs. McLaren paid the twelve-going-on-thirteen-year-old a ridiculous amount of money for walking her dog twice a week, once on Tuesday nights and once on either Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

Today was one such Tuesday.

Even though her music was loud enough for a complaint to be filed with the police, Kristen could hear her own tears clearly. Would her mother finally do what she'd threatened to for so long? Would she get a divorce and marry up in the world?

--

Tears long since wiped away, the brunette gave the nicest smile she could muster up to Derrick. He was happily eating up a plate of Girl Scout cookies, having listened to his ex-girlfriend regail him with the story of Dempsey's cheating and Claire's betrayal. By now, Massie had carefully lined her startlingly bright eyes with navy liner, giving her that Cleopatra-inspired cat's eye look that Alicia said was 'so '07,' but Massie still adored. Her lips were still bare and she had been unknowingly gnawing on them since Derrick's arrival an hour ago.

"Solomon..." Derrick now muttered angrily, letting the Thin Mint he was holding clatter onto the fancy-schmancy plate. "I could _kill _that son of a..."

Massie met his gaze; he closed his mouth and broke the eye contact. There was just something about her... Even if they weren't dating anymore, even if she was with that bastard Solomon... He still _cared_ for her, hoped they could be friends, wished he could kiss her roughly and-

Derrick's brown eyes flashed. _Oh, no, no, no. _He wiped a couple chocolaty crumbs from his palms onto his older brother's orange t-shirt, smudging the logo of some skateboard company or another. _This isn't happening! _He ducked his head down, subtly he hoped, when he felt Massie's genuine laser-beam smile targeted on him. She was so different now. Had Dempsey done this to her? Had he made her so...happy?

His thoughts flashed back to twenty minutes ago. Massie Block hadn't exactly been the epitome of joy and happiness.

"Don't," she said simply. It was a bizarre sight, to say the least. Massie, lips quivering and mostly makeup-free, knee-deep in soapy water, scrubbing dishes and pots and pans and the like. When she noticed his staring, Massie tucked a hank of dark hair behind her freckled ear. "I clean when I'm upset."

"Ah." He nodded, picking up another cookie. "I see."

"Derrick," Massie sighed his name, like it was a cuss word. For some reason, the way she said his name, well, it made his heart _soar. _There was something so beautiful about her then: makeup smudged but still somewhat present, hair pulled up into an 'artfully messy' bun, sleeves bunched up around her elbows. That look in her eyes. "Don't touch him, don't say anything to him, you hear me?" He nodded, scared. "Good. Now," she breathed, ignoring her half-washed plate, "it's time for a little scheming. It's been a while since I've planned a social suicide. That's why I called you in."

Derrick's mouth spread into an easy smile. "Who's life are we gonna making a living hell?"

"Lyons, naturally."

The mouth faded into the torn edges of confusion. "Todd? What'd he do now...? Was he spying on you, Mass? 'Cause I swear! One more knuckle sandwich and that pervy kid's gonna explo-"

Massie covered her ears with her hands. "No, no! Claire! Pale skin, white-blond hair, blue eyes?" At Derrick's growing realization, Massie added, "Cheating, lying, two-faced bitch?"

"Oh, her." He shrugged, munching long and hard on a cookie (_The plate almost empty now._) "Should be easy enough."

--

_This shouldn't be happening... _

Hands roaming across his t-shirted shirt, over his broad shoulders.

_Oh, but it is... _

His fingers gripping the nape of her neck.

_Stop, say stop. No, no... _

Lips opening, opening, letting more in, forgetting about air, who cares about breathing?

_Please, please. _

Was that...? A moan. Leans her head back, let his hands intertwine with wisps of tangled hair.

_Can't believe I'm here. _

They were outsiders, even if they were on the inside. Her red hair glimmered up close and his eyes were too pretty for a boy's.

_I'm Dylan and he's Cam. And this _really _shouldn't be happening. _

--

Dylan Marvil's green eyes blinked rapidly. She pushed herself to sit up in the bed of royal blues and elegant golds, her palms digging into the custom-made mattress. Sweat dotted her hairline and she pushed away the clear beads with her knuckles. Her hair was matted to her forehead; she looked like a mess.

That dream...

Dylan jumped out of bed and slipped into a pair of Prada slippers, emerald green to match her famed stare. She found the ice cold wash cloth the Marvil housekeeper, Lidia, had left out last night and used it to cover her face.

_Oh holy crap. _


	6. Six

**Warning: **Strong language, content, mentions of child abuse. Nothing that anyone who's ever flipped past _Law & Order: SVU_ couldn't handle.

**Changes made:** I've gone back and edited all the early chapters, cleaning up grammar and the like. Only one major change was made: No more baby sister for Michael. Only Cordelia.

_--_

_Six;_

_--_

Another day had passed, though they all seem to blur into one, like Hell Week when Kristen was trying out for the soccer team last year. Soccer season was almost over now and the Sirens chance of getting anywhere near quarter-finals was slim to none. Seriously slim, like Massie if she only ate Slimfast chocolate shakes and baby carrots.

Kristen Gregory, dark blond hair combed neatly, clasped her hands and rested them on her denim-clad jeans.

Counselling. Family counselling. It was about as fun as it sounded and right now, Dr. Humphrey was listing off, in that condescending tone of his, all the reasons why the marriage of Kristen's parents was doomed from the start.

He began with Kristen's mom. The easier target.

The doctor, with his receding hairline and tweed suit, repeated the never-before-told story of how Kristen's maternal grandfather was a drunk. A mean, abusive drunk. Who hit his wife, touched his daughter. Until he killed himself in a drunk driving accident and next to no one bothered to come to his funeral. From there, things went downhill. Kristen's maternal grandmother dove headfirst into the Mormon religion and never let Kristen's mom out of the house.

When Dr. Humphrey was done telling that story, peeling off the Band-Aids and opening old wounds, his grey eyes flickered and his face twisted into something like a smirk.

_Bigot, _Kristen sneered to herself. Her hands were shaking and the elegant silver bracelet Massie gave her was making too much noise. Kristen wanted to shush the goddamned thing, wanted to rip it off her wrist and fling it at the family counsellor's mostly-bald head. Instead of that, disgracing the Gregory name further, Kristen resigned herself to merely quaking in fear.

The towheaded thirteen-year-old (_Her birthday fell on the first week of September; lovely._) could barely stand to listen when that pompous Humphrey began ticking off, on his sausage-esque fingers, the pains and agony of Mr. Gregory. So, she covered her ears with her broad, athlete's shoulders, and prayed that the pink diamond studs (a gift from Massie, circa last March) didn't get caught on her brand new striped green-and-white American Eagle sweater.

It isn't until Humphrey cleared his throat and some sort of sloshing sound followed, that Kristen's eyes, deep as the Atlantic and blue as the Pacific, snapped open.

Kristen could barely feel her mother's delicate fingers - thin and long, like the pianist she once was - grace her shoulder through the cable-knit of her sweater. She could, however, feel her father's hand digging into her opposite shoulder. Clutching onto it, like he was afraid she would fly away and never come back. Kristen gave him a look from under her pale lashes, as if to say, '_I'll always come back.' _

That was when he, Kristen's father, stood up. Too tall for the small room, too proud for free familial counselling. He grabbed his daughter's left hand, taking a moment to marvel how she could still wrap all her fingers around his thumb, and placed his other hand on the small of his wife's back.

"We're leaving," he intoned, daring Dr. Humphrey to say anything else. To criticise another moment. To point out more flaws. He didn't, merely opened and closed his mouth like a freshwater bass.

"Idiot," Mr. Gregory mumbled, still holding on to his family with both hands and all his heart.

"_Idiot,_" Kristen agreed, nodding her head and tucking a fallen piece of straight hair behind her ear with her free hand.

"Don't say that!" Mrs. Gregory gasped, clucking her tongue.

Mr. Gregory gave his daughter a '_Don't mind your mother' _smile. Kristen giggled, adding a little bit of spring into her step. She ran free of her parents' hold, but stopped when she reached the dirty Dodge Caravan that the Gregorys used to use as their '_we don't show off our wealth' _car. Now it was their only car.

--

The way Dylan couldn't stop thinking about him was driving her crazy. She wasn't some heartbroken television starlet, spilling her heart to _InTouch _or _Seventeen. _She was twelve-going-on-thirteen, the daughter of _The Daily Grind_'s hair dye-loving, Botox-aided hostess, one of four children, with a _side _of heartbreak. Dylan knew that, five out of five times, Cam Fisher would pick Claire over her. He'd pick Massie over her. Alicia over her. Hell, he'd probably pick _Kristen effing Gregory _over her, and no one even really liked the girl.

In his eyes, she was trash. Well-dressed trash.

Dylan smoothed out the extra long, pre-faded, off-white Karen Zambos Vintage Couture tank she wore underneath this year's Octavian Country Day School sweater. It was an eggplant purple and - not surprisingly - as flattering as a potato sack. She loved it.

"What's wrong, Pickle Pie?" Merilee questioned, all arching eyebrows and hands-on-hips. Merilee Marvil was quite the imposing figure. She was barely 5'6 and fit into a size two like nobody's business, but it was her hidden intelligence and roundhouse kick that gave her that extra air of Sarah Connor, _'Don't mess with me, or I will eff you up' _style.

"Well, the economy's crashing." The too-tall-for-her-age redhead smirked into her Frosted Flakes, pointedly ignoring her mother's look of exasperation. "Although," Dylan continued, looking up from the grinning tiger on the cereal box back to her mother, "by the look of that outfit, you've done your share for our country's recession today."

Merilee, to affronted to say anything, plopped down beside her daughter at the regal, vintage table that sat twelve. Merilee's dinner parties were epic.

"Hon-"

"HEY, MAMA!" Clementine Marvil, four, tumbled down the winding staircase, reminiscent of an episode of _Gossip Girl _or an Edith Wharton novel, perhaps.

Clem was largely considered to be the most gorgeous celebrity child this side of California. She had light brown eyes that took up half her face and dark auburn hair that looked red in a certain slant of light. Clem's blunt bangs made her eyes look even bigger and darker.

"Hiya, Ceecee." Merilee beamed at her daughter, scooping up the lanky child into her lap. Clementine blinked at Dylan, as if to show off her naturally long eyelashes. She stuck out her pink tongue.

Dylan rolled her green eyes.

"Anyways," Merilee said, "what's wrong with my Dyl Pickles?" She lightly ticked the underbelly of Clem, who merely shook it off by reaching for a handful of Dylan's dry cereal. Girl was as ticklish as someone laid out on the coroner's table.

"Nothing, I said."

The eldest Marvil shook her head sagely, playing with Clem's messy, slept-in braids. "Ah. Boy troubles. Tell Mother, she's been through it all."

Dylan blinked at her mother. For a second, she actually considered spilling the beans about kissing Cam. Then, she fell off the fluffy, purple cloud she'd been on. This was Merilee Marvil. She wouldn't know good advice if it smacked her in the face whilst watching a _Dawson's Creek _rerun.

The middle child in the Marvil family walked away from the dining room, leaving her mother and little sister reeling in her wake. Dylan knew that, within nanoseconds, the French au pair would scurry up the stairs and clean up. Maybe Merilee would make a little joke about 'those teenagers.' Maybe, she wouldn't. Either way, Victoire would have no idea what she was going on about.

--

"A little to the left."

"Hair! Makeup!"

"No, no... Wait! Stop! Just like that!"

Even though Katy Perry was blaring through an iDock, the Cheetos were stale, and the outfit she was wearing was a little bit clothes and a whole lot skin, Alicia was having the time of her life.

Alicia was modelling for Abercrombie & Fitch's winter catalogue. If all went well, some of the many pictures she'd taken would be front and centre when half of BOCD opened their mail in a few months. Currently, she was wearing a pair of ninety-dollar jeans. They were the slimmest fit on the market and damn sexy. Alicia was also clad in a strapless bra that perfectly matched her skin tone. With the right camera flash and a pinch of Photoshop, she looked topless. How did Josh like her now?

That was when _he _came in.

Alicia's breath caught her in throat and she was sure the photographer, a woman in her forties with Cruella DeVil hair, swore at the expression of her face just then.

He was glorious.

And, no, he wasn't Josh Hotz, her neglectful boyfriend.

He was a whole breed unto himself. The traditional A&F guy, to be sure. Tall, six feet at least, lanky, piercing blue eyes, and curly blond hair that just went past his ears. He was _fiiiine_.

And he was coming towards her.

She couldn't help notice his ensemble, either. Jeans, whiskered, tailored, and light wash. He was shirtless. Awe-inspiring abs and all. When he caught her gaze, he returned it with a big smile and a sexy wink.

_Oh, forgive me father, for what I'm about to do... _

The photographer, frustrated as hell, stopped snapping and momentarily gave directions to some random, all-black-wearing P.A.'s who were toiling around, doing nothing. They took final sips of their vanilla lattes and then took off running.

Their set was beautiful. A grassy knoll with willow trees in the background. Alicia had taken some photos in a must-have lace dress, on a Thoroughbred horse. Massie would die at the sight of this place. Luckily, Mass had returned her frantic texts and calls. Alicia had invited her to the set and the Alpha had graciously accepted. Right now, Mass was probably off finding cute boys to flirt with. Too bad Alicia had found the hottest HART in the entire state!

"I'm Hayden," he introduced, taking her hand in his. "How do I not know you?"

"I'm Alicia."

"Well, Alicia, it looks like we're going to have some fun."

That was when Cruella pulled Alicia and Hayden together, using elaborate hand gestures and muttering to herself about "electric chemistry."

Fun, indeed.


End file.
